Letters
by Guille van Cartier
Summary: It's been a month since the Benbow reopened, and Sarah Hawkins has good business and a new crew. One night, she finds a love letter on her windowsill, which soon evolves to a steady chain. Who could have sent them? Maybe SilverSarah, maybe not.
1. A love letter?

**Author's Note: This is my first Treasure Planet story, and since I had yet to write a romance fic, I've decided that that's what this is going to be. Why Sarah Hawkins? Because I felt like it, darn it! And anyway, I like writing. Guess who you'll see she gets paired up with, if it happens at all! laughs evilly Ah well... read it, and be gentle. My writing style has been affected greatly by the large amount of noise that has polluted my house. And I don't suppose I'm THAT witty, though I take claim to a small well of it... Ah well... It'll be... interesting, I assure you. Read and Review, if you are kind! **

**Disclaimer: Treasure Planet, and anybody connected to it (other than the characters I have created on my own) belong not to me, but to Disney. I am borrowing them for my simple amusement, and have no intent to gain any profit from this story.**

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"Mrs. Hawkins? Mrs. Hawkins, is something wrong?"

Anthony Bronson leaned his head in through the open door of Sarah Hawkins's room, a genuinely concerned look taking his Canid features. One large hand clutched the wooden jamb of the entryway, keeping his balance, the other's padded fingers wrapped about the curved handle of a sconce. His feet remained without the chamber; Anthony Bronson was not without manners and refused to enter his superior's room uninvited, especially not at night after closing.

Sarah stood motionless in the chamber, her back only visible to Anthony, stiff with a sort of frightened tension. She seemed to be staring at her window.

"Mrs. Hawkins?" Anthony repeated softly, his brow furrowing. "It's me, Anthony. Are you alright?"

"There's a letter," Sarah answered suddenly, not bothering to turn to the person she spoke to.

"Excuse me...?" The Canid asked himself the space to lean in a smidgeon more.

"There's a letter," Sarah said again, turning finally to face Anthony. There was a strange expression taking her fair face. "There's a letter sitting on my window sill." Sarah took a small step to the side, and gestured toward the casement, where Anthony noted a rectangle of white sitting innocently upon the polished brown of the ledge.

"A letter!" Anthony echoed, further entering her room without setting foot inside. "What kind of a letter?"

"I don't know," Sarah answered, glancing back at the envelope. "I haven't looked yet."

"Well, why not?" Anthony asked anxiously.

Sarah looked at Anthony silently, her brow arched in an expression unfamiliar to the woman's countenance. It was an unusual thing for Anthony to act in any way anxious.

Anthony did not seem to note the expression. "Don't you think that when you've gotten a letter it's a good idea to open it and see what's inside?" He leant in further, a vaguely leading expression on his face. "Come now, Mrs. Hawkins, why not take a peek?"

"Well, Anthony," Sarah began slowly, mulling the young waiter's suggestion over in her head, "I didn't look inside because it's suspicious..." A small grin twitched at the corners of her mouth. "And, don't you think that when something's suspicious it's a good idea to leave it alone?"

The Canid took a moment to think this over. "No, not really," he said at length. "If it's suspicious, I would actually examine it further... I don't think it would be a good thing to leave something distrustful to its own devices. Bad might come of it."

Sarah laughed. "Bad might come of leaving a letter alone?"

Anthony blushed in embarrassment. "Well, yes, you know, it could be possible; it really matters on what type of letter you get, though I... I did not really mean what I said in that way..." Anthony grimaced, obviously not too used to tripping over his own words. He looked to the side as he spoke, trying to avoid Sarah's strange look. "If you think about, taxes and such things can be quite dangerous if you leave them be, but...I meant...you understand what I meant, didn't you?" He looked at Sarah almost pleadingly. "Because, if you didn't, I'd be more than glad to explain it to you, though I doubt... AHHH!"

Here, Anthony quite lost his grip on the door post (what with his palms becoming quite sweaty and all) and near tumbled head over heels into the room. He fell forward suddenly, yelping all the while, and tripped onward, running for a few moments before his body nearly collided with the ground. He caught himself with his free hand before that could happen, though, and propelled his body upward with one foot, arching his mass over his head. Within seconds, his feet landed sharply before him. With a disconcerted _oof_ his bottom greeted the floor, knocking the wind temporarily out of him. Despite the discomfort he felt, it was a lucky thing that he ended up sitting on his rump in relative shock, other than lying flat on his face in pain, though it was doubtful that he realized that at that moment.

Sarah stood before him, blinking down at him in surprise. Though Anthony was a very adept person, it was strange how acrobatic her waiter seemed at that single moment, flipping over himself. She perused that expression that his face held, a mixture of fright and the same _"what-in-the-name-of-all-that-is-holy-was-that?" _look that someone who had just seen a bullyadous flying by their window wearing a bowtie and a lady's hat would've had. Then, slowly, she let out a giggle that was either brought about by his unforgettable expression, or the bullyadous-based image that it evoked. Gradually that slight snicker evolved, loudening and intensifying, until it transformed flawlessly into a genuine laugh that sparkled amusement in Sarah's eyes. Anthony remained on the floor for a long moment, the hand holding the candle shaking quite badly. It took him a while, being too preoccupied with his throbbing buttocks, but he soon came to realize that his employer was laughing quite openly at him, and a crimson blush took his amazingly pale face.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hawkins," he apologized, his face slowly turning red. "I'm usually not so clumsy, but I guess I lost myself for a moment and... Oh dear, forgive me, Mrs. Hawkins, I've entered your room!" Anthony scrambled suddenly to his feet, nearly burning himself with the candle that he had almost forgotten, took a moment to brush himself off, and made a stiff, discomfited movement toward the door.

Oh dear, what a ruckus he was making! He hoped that she wouldn't take this too much into account, it was quite out of his character... he was usually quite adept at his movements (though the general awkwardness and social anxiety were a normal thing). And those who were lodging in the Benbow! He hoped he hadn't raised too many of them... the last thing he wanted was for Mrs. Sarah to be going through the trouble of bad business, and all on his account.

Sarah watched Anthony make his tense getaway, shaking her head, her laughter abating but her smile remaining, waiting until he was just before the door to make her approach.

"Don't worry, Anthony, don't worry!" Sarah said, following him and putting an unconcerned hand on his shoulder just before he exited the room. "It's nothing," she added smilingly. She lead the flustered Canid back into her room. "Why don't you stay for a moment? I think it would be a lot safer for me to look at the letter with someone around, what with the possible badness after all..." She giggled at the disconsolate look on Anthony's face. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head.

"It's alright," Anthony said, regaining his regular composure. That ever-existing smile came upon his face, a familiar kindness softening his momentarily clumsy features. "I had made quite a fool of myself," he muttered, bowing his head for a moment, as if begging for clemency, and then tucked his hands behind his back politely.

Sarah gave Anthony a short smile, then led him back to the window which held on its ledge that letter of mysterious content. Anthony was always strange to her in that regard. He never seemed to lose that polite manner, never for a moment seemed to mislay his self-possession in such a fit of ineptitude as he had just an instant before. To be truthful, this was only the second example of any lost equanimity on his part that Mrs. Hawkins had witnessed of late. Anthony Bronson was a highly capable young Canid, probably due for much higher occupations than a mere waiter. But that was what he had applied for not more than a month ago, and that was the job that he was given, and the job that he held astoundingly for the past four weeks.

Sarah seated herself at the window, beside the place where the letter sat. Anthony took a silent post at the wall, standing beside the window and Sarah.

The young woman did not make any move to touch the envelope; instead, she took a few moments to further examine the suspicious packet that had found itself upon her ledge. It seemed a normal note, though the crisp, immaculate exterior was uncanny. Upon the point of its flap was a circle of red wax, into which an elaborate seal had been embossed. One of its corners was tucked beneath the window's wooden paneling.

Anthony watched as Sarah stared at the letter, and cleared his throat in gentle encouragement. Sarah glanced back at him with a questioning eyebrow lifted.

"Well, just a small peek, Mrs. Hawkins, if you're too anxious to look at the whole thing," he suggested lightly, rocking back and forth on the heels and balls of his feet.

"I've never seen you like this, Mr. Bronson," Sarah told him. "When have you acted so excited?"

Anthony's polite smile broadened minutely. "Well... it's an exciting manner."

"Opening a letter is exciting?" The innkeeper let out a somewhat sarcastic laugh.

Anthony pursed his lips at the reaction, and put a finger to his mouth, as if weighing what words he might use to rejoinder. "Opening a letter," he began pointedly, "that my superior is frightened of."

"Not frightened," Sarah corrected, shaking a finger.

"Oh?" Anthony muttered, giving her a strange look.

Sarah crossed her arms at the sardonic tone in her employee's utterance. "The word is suspicious, Anthony."

The Canid nodded in understanding, but put a large hand over his mouth as if to stifle something. Sarah did not miss this action, and inquired upon it, her tone somewhat annoyed.

"Well..." Anthony started, his tone apologetic, "I just don't understand what there is to suspect about it. It looks innocent enough from my viewpoint."

"The point is, Mr. Bronson," Sarah began, "that I keep my room locked at all times during the day, up until the time I come in to rest. I've got a few important documents that I'd like to keep safe."

"Mrs. Hawkins, I believe that a window has two sides," Anthony pointed out, gesturing toward the outside, where the roof and its metal shingles could be seen, sloping downward to the riveted walkway below.

"And, I believe that I sleep on the third floor," Sarah shot back. She returned her attention to the letter that remained upon her sill, its wax seal staring up at her almost seductively. "It's either got to be something very important or very dangerous for someone to risk a nasty fall to get up here and stick it under my window." She broke the glance, shaking her head. "You understand my thinking now, don't you, Anthony?"

Anthony nodded gently. "Yes, of course, I understand how this would be some cause for alarm..." He pushed himself off the wall that he had been leaning against and moved to stand in front of Sarah. He knelt before her, picking up the crisp white envelope, and, with the air of some gallant knight of old, presented it to her, bowing his head in respect. "I do believe, though, that it would be wise for you to open it."

Sarah once again assumed a surprised expression, though this seemed much more in-character than Anthony's earlier antics. She gingerly pulled the letter from his large paws, and sighed, once again confronting the letter face to face.

"I suppose you're right," she muttered. Anthony stood up, his polite smile still intact, and seated himself beside his employer, leaning over her shoulder as she began to unravel the note. Sarah ran one graceful finger beneath the flap, and then slowly broke the seal, flipping the envelope open. The top crease of a folded sheet of parchment presented itself, and Sarah took it softly and eased it out of its casing. She passed Anthony a glance, and the waiter nodded back at her, beckoning for her to continue. Sarah returned to the note and unfolded it slowly, as if supposing something would leap out once it was opened. But nothing came to greet her, nothing but a few words, written in looped, calligraphic writing.

"Well?" she heard Anthony ask as her eyes glanced over the cursive. "What does it say?"

Sarah squinted her eyes, the words a bit difficult to make out for its show. She began to read slowly.

_Oh, how enamored can a man like me_

_Who holds such echelon that is my own,_

_Be for a woman beautiful as thee_

_Whose heart love can not easily be sown?_

_So hard fell you for one who came before,_

_And harder fell when left he for the wild._

_But for your loving eyes may I implore?_

_My ardor their blue shine made as their child._

_So here a poem I set on your sill,_

_Where polished wood a bed for letter's made,_

_That note that holds my feelings and my will, _

_Inscribed with words in ink my heart had laid. _

_And here you see affection written down,_

_That hopes your love it might wear as its crown._

"Ah!" Anthony said once she had finished. "I see!"

"See what?" Sarah asked, turning the paper over at arms length, signifying her confusion. "To be truthful, I can't make head or tails of this thing..."

"Oh, Mrs. Hawkins!" Anthony exclaimed, sounding a bit disappointed. "Can't you see? It's a love note!"

"A love note?" Sarah repeated in disbelief. She let out an incredulous laugh. "Why would I get a love note?"

"Apparently, Mrs. Hawkins, there is someone out there who..." Anthony took the letter from Sarah's hands and squinted at it, as if trying to read it with trouble. "...who... who loves your eyes and... and hopes that you might love them back..."

"You understand that gibberish?" Sarah inquired in amazement.

"Of course!" Anthony answered. "The structuring is a bit old fashioned, but it's easy enough. I was a librarian for three years beforehand, Mrs. Hawkins."

"And I thought that they just had a problem with syntax," she admitted laughingly. "Tell me, what does it mean?"

"Well... it seems to be a sonnet," Anthony started out, sounding a bit nervous. "It has fourteen lines, an alternating rhyme scheme, and an iambic pentameter... Hmm... The first four lines say something a bit like: How much can a man of my _echelon_... erm, rank, love someone who cannot love easily..." He ran a hand over his platinum hair. "The second bit is something along the lines of: You fell in love with someone, and you were devastated when he left you..." Anthony stopped for a moment and glanced at Sarah. She returned his gaze with a sad one, but urged him to continue. "Oh, ehm... he says that: can he ask you to love him despite that, because he... is in love with your blue eyes, or something of the like..." He coughed anxiously into his paw. "And the last bit says something like: So, I'm putting this poem on your window sill, with words that were written from my heart. And, that his affection hopes to be awarded with your love."

"How... interesting," Sarah ended vaguely, scratching the back of her head in uncertainty.

"I think it was a lovely poem," Anthony informed her. He handed her the parchment, and Sarah glanced over its writing for a second time. "Think about it Mrs. Hawkins," he said with a smile. "Someone out there admires you!"

"Yes," Sarah said, nodding. She folded the paper quietly, then walked over to her wastebasket and let it go, allowing it to float slowly into the bin.

Anthony jumped up. "Mrs. Hawkins!" he exclaimed. "Don't you think that's a bit harsh to your admirer?"

"Well, I apologize to my admirer, whoever he might be," she said coolly, not taking a second glance at the note before moving to the four poster bed that sat against the adjacent wall. "But, I'm just too busy to be dealing with something like this. It's romantic, I'll admit, but I don't have time for love notes given to me by people crazy enough to climb to the third floor just so I can see it." She smiled. "It's an interesting gesture, but I can just as easily get their little love note in the mail."

"I see your point," Anthony replied softly, standing from his seat, clutching tighter his candle.

"Why would he put it on my window sill anyway?" Sarah wondered aloud, taking a seat on her mattress.

"I don't know," her waiter admitted, making his slow way to the door. "Perhaps he was expecting it to gain more attention were it to be in some unusual place." Anthony passed her a grin. "And, in my opinion, Mrs. Hawkins, it seemed to have some effect, if I might say so."

Sarah nodded her head, acceding. "That's true," she agreed. She glanced at the wastebasket quietly. "Well... let's hope he doesn't try that stunt again. We wouldn't want some poor soul to break his neck from slipping on the roofing tiles."

Anthony laughed politely. "Yes, let's hope." The Canid continued out the door into the dark hallway, guarding his light with one paw. He took a final peek into the room. "Goodnight, Mrs. Hawkins," he said, bowing his head slightly, then making his way down the hall.

"Goodnight, Anthony," Sarah returned, and she shut the door after him.

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**A/N: Well, that's about it for the first chapter. Tell me what you think, alright, mes amis? Oh, and the poem... wrote that about a month ago while pondering over the story... I'm sorry if it isn't that good. **


	2. Isaac Granger

**Author's Note: This is the second chapter.. Thank you, Mrs. Courtesy, for writing as you did. I had decided, when I started this story, to write something that I am not used to. Though, that promise has already been somewhat fulfilled with the story being a romance, I thought I would further fulfill it by doing a pairing that I am not myself used to. Of course, it might end up one way, it mind end up another, it is based upon whether or not I can make the relationship convincing... who then, do you think, would Mrs. Hawkins be paired with? You must read to find out! **

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It took little labor for Sarah to forget the issue of the love note; naught more than one night's sleep did the trick. It seemed, at the moment she awoke, early in the morning as usual, her mind was so flooded beneath thoughts toward her work that day that there was no space for even the tiniest bit of concern for it. She had maintained her regular routine without as much as a fleeting consideration for the letter.

She had gotten up from bed, fetched her attire for that day, and had made her way to the dressing screen she had set up in her room. She passed the window indifferently, casting not even a minor acknowledgement toward the envelope that remained on its sill, the red sealing wax and open flap not for a moment drawing her attention. Once she had finished clothing herself properly, she made her way back to her bed, ready to fix it. Her waste bin stared up at her innocently during all this time, but she didn't seem to even take notice of it, but for a few seconds when throwing two used tissues away. Not even her waiter, Anthony Bronson, evoked any remembrances; she waved politely at him and saluted him appropriately as he trudged by her bedroom door, doing nothing more, doing nothing less.

In fact, it seemed that work would be the only thing to be floating through Sarah's mind that morning. Of course, it seemed to make sense; work was a very important part of her life. But, this day, it seemed so overwhelmingly on her mind, that one might suspect it were trying to hide the fact that she'd rather be thinking of something else, perhaps even from Sarah herself. But of course, Mrs. Hawkins could not forever be kept at such a pace. It was about midday when the line of thought that lingered forever on dishwashing and bill-paying took a slight detour.

Sarah was picking up dirty dishes from the window side table when she noticed a small unhappy squeaking. She turned, curious, and saw her son's pet, Morph, floating along the edge of the dining area. Its pace was slow and despondent, its large eyes cast down toward the wooden floorboards, small, hiccupping squeaks popping from its mouth every moment or so.

"Oh, Morph," she muttered beneath her breath, a glimmer of concern taking her worn face. She put the dishes that she had collected in a plastic bin on the counter, and wiped her hands swiftly on her white apron. Sarah made her quick way across the dining room to where the protoplasmic blob floated sadly.

"Morph?" Sarah murmured with all the tenderness of a mother, cupping her hands about the pink creature and bringing it closer. "Morph, are you all right?"

Morph looked up at her, his bulbous eyes blinking uneasily. He repeated back her words in a low, troubled mumble, and slowly floated down onto her curved palms.

Sarah bit her bottom lip in concern. "Is something wrong Morph?" she whispered to it, running a gentle finger over the bends of its gelatinous body. "Are you sick?"

"Sick," Morph echoed convincingly. His eyes closed slowly. "Sick."

"You're sick?" Sarah questioned, furrowing her brow in worry. Jim wouldn't be happy with her if he came back from the Royal Academy to find Morph sick, hoping that that was where the trouble ended. She stroked the morph again, as if trying to reassure it.

"I don't think he's sick," a voice informed her from behind. A large friendly face popped over Sarah's shoulder.

"You think so, Isaac?" Sarah asked, glancing for a moment at the Terran beside her, then back to the ailing morph.

"Looks to me as if Morph misses his master," Isaac said with a nod. He scratched the blob playfully on the back. "Isn't that right, Morphy? You miss your old buddy, Jim?"

Morph, though its eyes half-closed in a lethargic expression, smiled reminiscently. "Old buddy, Jim," it squeaked, floating off of Sarah's hands slightly.

"There you go. See?" Isaac said with a smile. He grinned friendlily at Sarah. "That's what was bothering Morph. You shouldn't worry, Mrs. Hawkins. Everyone misses somebody sometime or another."

"Thank you, Isaac," Sarah said, relieved. She gave Morph a consoling kiss, then placed it gently on one of her assistant's broad shoulders.

Isaac Granger was a pleasant man who was second in rank to Sarah in the business. He was about ten years Sarah's senior, twenty years for Anthony, and had a worn, but obviously friendly face. He was a very caring man, the type that you'd have for a husband, easily, and was unusually agile for his size age. He was also very good with numbers.

"Don't mention it," the man said in response, patting the morph nicely on the head. "It's part of my job."

Sarah laughed. "I don't ever remember putting 'consoling the family pet' on the job description of assistant, Isaac."

"Beats greeting guests," he replied, gesturing over his shoulder at the door, where Mrs. Dunwuddie stood, her normal frown on her face. Sarah gasped mockingly.

"Isaac! That's rude!" she said, putting her hands on her hips. "Especially at Mrs. Dunwuddie; she's an important patron of the Benbow!"

"Also loved her wine a little too much if you ask me," Isaac muttered. He glanced at Sarah, noticing her face, and gave her an embarrassed smile. "Don't tell her I said that."

"I don't know, Isaac," Sarah said, putting a finger to her lips as if in thought. "As I said, she is an important patron... It would be rude not to... especially if you intend to keep on doing it..."

Isaac laughed, putting up his hands before him. "Alright, alright, I give up!" He offered her a large hand. "You win. I won't be rude to Mrs. D."

Sarah took the proffered hand and shook it shortly. "Good. Now, as punishment, I banish you to greeting duty, Mr. Isaac Granger!"

Isaac chuckled kindly. "Yes, your majesty.." And he made his way back to the front, passing by the tentacled woman with a loud apology and a sincere pat. Mrs. Dunwuddie jumped somewhat at the "sorry". She turned to look at Sarah, who did little more than shrug her shoulders, as if she didn't understand herself. With that, Sarah returned to her dish collecting.

Through out the rest of the week, Sarah's window sill remained relatively empty, but for the forgotten envelope. And it was not until an exact seven days after the incident happened did she once again notice it, and then, it had brought about only a small snippet of thought. After all, no new love letters had unearthed themselves for a long time.

_It was probably a prank anyway_, Sarah thought as she deposited the envelope into the trash. She frowned quietly._ How rude._

The day was once again one of hard work, and Sarah found herself trudging tiredly upstairs at the end of it. The more business they got, the more exhausted Sarah became, it seemed. Ah well... she had good help, and beside, better business was a good thing.

She sighed, tucking a lock of brown hair behind her ear. Her bed would be waiting for her upstairs, more welcome than it had been for the whole week... she smiled at the thought. She almost considered going to sleep without even changing into her bed clothes...

"Oh dear lord, not another one!"

Ms. Hawkins stood, her nightdress draped over one arm, before the sill of the window, staring in shock at a letter that had found its way upon it. It bore the same seal that the first had, and it was the same type of freakishly pristine envelope.

She hung her gown atop the dressing screen, and immediately went to pick up the letter. She was too tired to be frightened, and was feeling more than a little irritation at having to deal with something like another silly love note.

"What do you have to say now, you prankster?" Sarah growled, addressing whomever had yet again pushed the note through the other side of the window. She ripped open the top of the envelope impatiently and pulled out the letter.

It was another poem, and yet again written in barely legible cursive. She glanced over it, ready to call for Anthony were she unable to understand again.

_So long ago I noted you afar,_

_Across a room's long width your face did shine,_

_And instantly your heart became the par_

_Of any want my heart before designed._

_So hear you now of love before now hid,_

_And yours I wish to meet now with my own,_

_For this affection never will I rid,_

_And destiny now rules my heart alone_

_Reveal to me the secrets of your heart,_

_Whose beats I long have fancied hearing near,_

_One word you say might tear my life apart,_

_But three words different might delight mine ear._

_And so again I ask for your own thought,_

_Do you, my dear, love me or love me not?_

"Well...That was a lot easier for me to read than the other one," she admitted to no one in particular, rereading the letter quietly. The style hadn't been too fashioned after the old... at least she was able to comprehend its basic meaning... Once again, it was sweet, and, she admitted, well-written if not a little corny. She held onto it for a moment, before shaking her head wearily.

"I hope this prank doesn't go too far," she muttered, standing. She put the letter back into its envelope, put it back onto the sill, and went to dress herself. She was tired.

In the end, the letter and envelope found the same home as the first had before she had even settled down to sleep.

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**A/N: And that is the end of chapter two. I was not very pleased with my writing style in this chapter; I have some difficulties in portraying the characters properly... but it was fine. Tell me what you think! Review please... it's the only way I know that, maybe, my story is worth my time.**


	3. Discussion

**Author's Note: The third chapter. Thank you, Courtesy, for reviewing. You seem the only one who likes my story. And for you, I shall persevere! In this chapter, I have a rather irked Sarah Hawkins. I am not certain whether or not I got her character down adequately, so whatever you think, tell me, okay? There is no poem in this chapter! Lucky all of you! Please, if you are reading this, review. Let me know there are people here. Oh, yes, and Constructive Criticism is more than welcomed! It is very much wanted! I would like to become better at this art! READ AND REVIEW!**

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"A love letter?" Isaac Granger blinked at Sarah Hawkins, obviously surprised by the news that she had just relayed. "You got a love letter?"

Sarah nodded wearily, running a hand over her head. "I found one yesterday," she told him. She dusted off one of the chairs in the dining area, where a few lingering crumbs had found a temporary berth from dinner last night.

It was morning now, a tad earlier than when most that lodged in the Benbow Inn would awaken, and Sarah and her crew were tidying up whatever they had missed in cleaning the night before. Isaac stood at the walls of the area, extinguishing the few lights that they had left on previously. Sarah stood at the tables, cleaning off any remaining particles that had been ignored. Anthony went from place to place, fixing floral arrangements, straightening chairs, and doing several other small things that might add to the pleasant ambiance that the Inn exuded. Different crew members passed in and out of the area, dusting and wiping.

Anthony's ears twitched upon hearing Isaac's question, and he turned from his place at a nearby table. "Unbelievable," he said, putting a hand to his face. "You received another one?"

"You knew about this?" Isaac asked, turning to Anthony indignantly.

The Canid cast the assistant manager a look that seemed somewhat unfriendly. "Yes," he answered at length, the politeness in his voice sounding slightly strained. "I was there when Mrs. Hawkins received her first."

Isaac seemed shocked at this news. "Why didn't anyone tell me?" He glanced at Sarah for an answer, but received nothing but a worn-out stare.

"Perhaps Mrs. Hawkins didn't want anyone who wasn't close to her to know about it," Anthony suggested, guiding a chair into a more aesthetic position. He did it in such a way that it seemed he wasn't at the moment concerned with what he was doing, but with something else.

Isaac grimaced at the idea. "That doesn't make any sense," he replied, brow furrowed in a piqued expression. "I'm her assistant manager; as far as rank is concerned, and even if it wasn't, I'm closer to Sarah than you are."

"What does it matter?" Anthony mumbled audibly, turning to straighten out a simple array of flowers that sat on the table beside him. "You're so loud, the whole world would've known weeks ago."

Isaac jumped into a belligerent stance, an angry growl escaping his large mouth. "Why you—"

Anthony faced the Terran coolly, a cold expression on his pale face. "Why I what?"

"Look here, you son of a--"

"Will you two stop it!" Sarah exclaimed suddenly, her voice so frighteningly irked it made the two workers jump. Once the two had her attention, she took a seat at the table she had just finished preparing and placed her head tiredly onto the palm of one hand. "Right now, you are both giving me an incredible headache."

"Well, I—" Anthony started, only to be interrupted by Sarah yet again.

"Drop it, Bronson," she snapped brusquely, glancing up from her place in irritation. "The only reason that you know about the love note is because you happened to walk by my bedroom when I found it. Otherwise, I wouldn't have told anyone. It's my own business, and it was my choice to tell Isaac just now, so don't act as if he isn't trusted."

Anthony seemed rather taken aback by Sarah's snappish attitude that morning, and seemed to want to respond. But, he thought better of it, it seemed, and he bowed his head in apologetic resignation.

Isaac almost got a smug grin in before Sarah suddenly put the spotlight on his annoyances.

"And, you, Isaac," she began, "have not right to talk to Anthony as if he wasn't anything but an underling to you. You might have a higher position, but we are all part of one crew, and running this Inn is not fully one person's shoulders. You can't say who I'm closer to; you have no idea! I have no favorites, so don't consider yourself somewhere near that position! And, because of that, you shouldn't use my first name without my permission! Why do you two have to act as if you're enemies!" She sighed at length, then rested her head on the table.

Isaac was quiet for a while, letting the pointed words sink in. It was strange for him to hear Sar— Mrs. Hawkins talk so harshly. But, he thought almost ashamedly, she was correct on most points. He let out an acquiescent breath. "You're right," he muttered. "I'm sorry."

"I am too," Anthony said. His feelings were virtually the exact same as Isaac's had been. "What you said was true; I feel shame at thinking otherwise."

Sarah looked up for a moment, perusing the sad expressions on her worker's faces, then shook her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Look," she began. The two flinched, as if expecting some other sort of chastising, but Sarah disappointed this anticipation. "I'm sorry," the woman said, lifting herself up. "I'm just a bit stressed right now... What with the Benbow getting busier by the minute, I need as much help as I can get... and four love notes falling into my lap in the past month—"

"You got four love letters?" Isaac interrupted, that familiar shocked expression falling onto his large face. He glanced at Anthony, who caught the look, but only returned it with a shrug.

"I was never informed," he admitted. "The last I knew about was the first she had received."

"So, we were both in the dark," Isaac pointed out, a friendly chuckle exploding from his lips. "Guess I shouldn't have made such a fuss about it. Sorry, buddy."

Anthony was silent for a moment after the apology. It seemed that he was wondering whether or not this man had been serious upon saying it, and if he should return it as well. But, before his quiet became too awkward, he uttered an apology of his own, and gave Isaac his familiar smile.

"But really, Mrs. Hawkins, four love letters?" Isaac crossed his arms before his chest. "And this is the first you told me about them?"

"It didn't bother me as much the first two times," Sarah confessed. "I thought it was just some prankster trying to be as annoying as possible."

"And now...?" Isaac asked.

"Now?" Sarah repeated, shaking her head. "I don't know, now. But I'm getting a lot more uncomfortable about this."

Isaac nodded his head, understanding the discomfort that Sarah felt about the whole situation. It was, after all, an unusual one, at least, for her.

"Maybe you should alert the constabulary," Anthony suggested, a worried look taking his face. "The worst that we have to face in this predicament is a stalker... and I don't think you'd want one of those any time soon."

"Of course not," Sarah acceded. She stood up. "But, I don't think I'm going to call the police just yet..."

"If you're feeling uncomfortable about it, Mrs. Hawkins," Anthony began, approaching her slowly, "I suppose it would be best to tell them... perhaps they can have a small patrol about the Benbow at night to ensure that no danger comes to you."

"Yeah," Isaac agreed, nodding his head vigorously. "And, if they see the guy coming, they can catch him!'

"Seeing police hanging around the Benbow like that would make a lot of my customers uncomfortable," Sarah said, yet again shaking her head. "No, I think I'll do a little bit more investigating before I let that happen."

"You sure, Mrs. Hawkins?" Isaac asked, biting his bottom lip unsurely. "I think you should do what Anthony said, but, hey, it's your call."

"No," Sarah said quickly, her mind made up. "I don't want anyone to feel uncomfortable here at the Benbow."

Anthony took her hand for a moment, looking down at its long fingers, feeling the calluses caused by years of hard work and heated endeavors. He frowned. "But," he began quietly, "doesn't this make _you _uncomfortable, Mrs. Hawkins? Doesn't it bother you?"

Sarah stopped, staring at Anthony, her eyes glimmering suddenly with uncertainty.

"That's right," Isaac said, putting a large, concerned hand upon her shoulder. "What about you?"

Sarah turned to look at Isaac, noting the obvious worry that took his features, and wondered whether or not her decision was right or not. It seemed that if she didn't alert the authorities, they would be more uncomfortable about the situation than she would. And, did she want that? But, she didn't want to concern her customers, the rest of her crew, or the constabulary about such a trifle of a problem...

"I'm sorry guys," she said at last. "But, I can't do that. Not yet, at least. If I feel any worse next time, I'll be sure to do it, but right now... I can't."

She shook her head.

"After all," she said, looking up at the flight of stairs that led to the Benbow's rooms, "the customer always comes first."

Isaac lifted his hand to scratch the back of his head doubtfully. "Well," he began, "If you say so, Mrs. Hawkins."

"Come on," she said, beckoning them toward the kitchen, a masking smile taking her face. "The guest's will be waking up soon. We'll have to be ready for them."

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**A/N: I hope that the story was appreciated! Silver shall be coming into the story after... two or three more chapter, I estimate. I'm not quite certain, and changes can come about, can't they? Well, good people, REVIEW!**


	4. Apprehended

**Author's Note: Fourth chapter! Thank you, BookRose for your kind words. And about Sarah throwing away from the letters... I guess she lacked foresight for that moment... I dunno. Heh. Well! Read and Review, please! If you're reading this, reviews make it worthwhile. CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM... I'm just stressing it.**

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Sarah had become extremely uneasy about the whole situation. Every letter that she had received appeared on the same day, every week, for the past month. It was two more days until the next letter would arrive on her windowsill, she knew. And this knowledge was playing hard against her nerves.

For some unknown reason, the letters had been causing more wear upon Sarah's nerves than what was usual. Or healthy, for that matter. She had already been going through a time of hard work; though she had a good crew, she knew she needed more help in order to get through the business day comfortably. She had been putting out notices, one such sign posted on the window beside the main entrance with large red letters proclaiming: "Help Wanted". At least twice a week she was dealing with people who were applying, and she spent a lot of almost every day looking of résumés. And now, as she found the letters sidling their way into her thoughts more and more often, her nerves were certainly getting rattled.

She was barely getting through the week alive with those suspicions forever trailing after every important thought. The Benbow Inn would be facing a hard time keeping itself afloat if she, as manager, didn't pull herself together. The least she could do was hide her discomfort; Isaac and Anthony seemed nearly as nervous as she was. Though they did not mention the matter freely, the many worried glances that they cast her were enough to clue her in on their feelings.

She did not want anyone to be discomforted, but it seemed that her own uneasy sensations were causing others problems. Sarah didn't like this thought. This would not help the business at all.

So, with these thoughts in mind, Sarah went to the station in hope of ridding everyone of the unpleasant vibes that were slowly engulfing the inn.

When she had come, a constable, this one decidedly biological, unlike many of the others, led her into a back room to discuss the situation.

"So," he began, his pen hovering above his notepad, ready to take notes, "you say you've got a stalker on your hands."

"Well," Sarah started uneasily, "I'm not sure about a stalker, but I've got somebody who's just... bothering me."

"What type of bothering?" the man asked, jotting down a few things onto his paper. "Stalking has a wide category, Mrs. Hawkins. We could be facing it right now."

"Well," Sarah said, "he's been leaving notes on my windowsill."

"What type of notes?" he questioned.

"Love notes," she answered, feeling a sort of anxiety about discussing this with someone she wasn't close to.

"Love notes," the man repeated, recording the information. "Do you have any of these notes?"

"I have one," Sarah said, rummaging through her bag. She pulled out the fourth letter she had received and handed it to the constable.

The man examined it quietly, nodding, then placed it to the side.

"Is this the only one received?" he asked.

"No," Sarah replied frankly. "It's the fourth."

"Do you have any of the others?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I threw the others away."

"Now," the man continued, "the culprit has been leaving notes on your windowsill?"

"Yes, on my bedroom windowsill."

"Bedroom," the man repeated as he added the bit to his notes. "Where is your bedroom located?"

"It's on the third floor; it looks out to the east," she answered precisely.

The interview continued on in this manner, the constable spouting quick, almost mechanical questions, Sarah answering as best as she could with the little information that she had. In the end, the man had decided that he could be classified as a stalker.

"But, what if it's just a kid?" Sarah asked. "Just a prankster?"

"We could still regard him as a stalker," the man said after thought. "His actions are easily classified in them." The man stood up, straightening out his shirt. "Well, Mrs. Hawkins, the station would be happy to help you. You said that you think he's coming when?"

"In two days," she replied. "I know that the letters aren't there before night; I come into my room before lighting the lanterns outside."

"Alright... so it happens sometime around the evening?"

"Yes."

"I'll send a couple of patrol officers over at the time," he said.

"Thank you," Sarah said, letting out a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much."

"It's not problem," the constable replied. "Oh, and Mrs. Hawkins?"

"Yes?"

"Don't tell anyone what you've chosen to do. We don't want any suspects knowing beforehand."

Sarah nodded, though doubtful. Soon, she left the station and made her way back to the inn.

* * *

_Two days later..._

Sarah glanced up suddenly from a sheet of paperwork that she had been examining, as the high-pitched squeal of a pursuit alarm blared out. It was coming from the outside! The young woman quickly tossed the paper aside and rushed to the door that led without.

It was night already, the moon set in the sky amongst the shining stars, and Sarah felt a cold breeze as she hurried out of the Benbow Inn. It was rather dark, but for the lanterns hanging about the entranceway and a few lingering lights within several of the guests' rooms. She moved back and forth anxiously, waiting for a sign of the constables, whom she hoped desperately had caught the joker who had been leaving her letters.

Finally, rounding one corner of the inn, red lights could be seen spinning about, their complementing noises shutting off. Between them there was a figure. _The joker_, Sarah thought with a nervous twitch in the corner of her lip.

The convict struggled loudly in the robot cops' mechanical grasps, grunting disconcertedly against their tightened fingers. Sarah heard him well, but had some difficulty seeing the culprit; all she could discern was a shadow, whose outline was barely visible by the turning, red lights of the constables' alarms. It was moving this way and that, making violent movements, strong yet vain. The machines were not swayed to loosen their holds, however, and approached Sarah in their calm perfunctory way, forcing the suspect along.

"Mrs. Hawkins," one droned monotonously, pointing at her with one gloved hand, "we believe we have apprehended the perpetrator."

Sarah moved toward the two constables, holding her hands together anxiously. Her heart was beating ferociously in her chest, a strange mixture of worry and dread bubbling deep within her. Her eyes remained ever vigilant upon the struggling being that was wedged between the two robots, the curiosity that had for so long been building up within her forcing her along.

"He was caught traveling along your roof," the other constable informed her. The red warning lights that shone about their heads dimmed, from lack of use, and, despite Sarah's hopes, flickered off. The figure was near invisible now, but the sound, she noted, had dissipated, as if with every step of her approach some of the suspect's will had slipped away. The night was dark; she would most probably had lost sight of the constables had it not been for the reflective belts that they wore bouncing back the bare illumination of a nearby lantern.

They were mere feet away now, and here Sarah stopped. Her eyes adjusted gradually to the shadows, and small portions of the person could be discerned. Whoever it was, he was large, it seemed, but his face was not visible to her; he bowed his head, as if in shame.

"Is this him?" Sarah inquired with a shaking voice, as if unsure whether or not this ashamed figure before her could be the supposed prankster who had been leaving notes upon her sill.

"Affirmative," one robot replied. "Do you recognize the perpetrator?" Both constables thrust forward the man in unison, their hands still wrapped tightly about the bulk of his arms as if to ensure no chance of escape. Not that it mattered much; it didn't seem that the culprit would make an attempt. He appeared to assent to the capture, though his movements relayed some apparently rueful thoughts.

"I can't see him," Sarah said, tilting her head in an attempt to see his face. Every time she moved to see him, it seemed he would bend his neck further downward to further impediment her. Apparently, he didn't want her to know who he was. But why...?

"We shall assist you," one of the constables suggested, and instantly in its eyes flickered a bright, yellow spotlight. It shone upon the man, illuminating the left side of his face, and it seemed but an instant before Sarah realized who it was.

"Isaac?" she murmured, a look of shock taking her face. "Isaac is that you...?"

The large man lifted his head, and, as she had expected, it was him, his face tired and ashamed. "Mrs. Hawkins," he muttered, shaking his head. "Mrs. Hawkins..."

"Isaac... it is you," she muttered. She looked down, her eyes wide with incredulity. "Isaac... it was you?"

"Mrs. Hawkins," he said softly. "Mrs. Hawkins, I can explain-"

"All this time it was you?" she interrupted, her voice shaking. She was apparently upset. "You saw how much I was worrying, you knew how much this was affecting me, and still you did it!" She looked away, shaking her head as if in disbelief. "And you... you even acted like you cared," she continued, biting her bottom lip. She let out a heart-rending sigh, and lifted her head slowly to look at Isaac, her expression reflecting a depressing disappointment. "Isaac... how could you...?"

"Mrs. Hawkins," he began, trying to keep her gaze without becoming overwhelmed with guilt, "Mrs. Hawkins, I-"

"I just... this is..." Sarah stuttered, running a hand over her head. She put her hand over her mouth as if to hide her quivering frown.

"Mrs. Hawkins!" the man exclaimed, shaking his head. "I didn't do it!"

"What?" Sarah gave him a strange look, but there was an obvious hope in her eyes.

"It wasn't me," he explained, the look in his eyes desperate, as if begging her to believe what he said. "I'd never do that to you, Mrs. Hawkins. I didn't put those notes on the windowsill!"

"We discovered him by your window," one robot broke in.

Sarah looked glanced at the robot, then back at Isaac, as if expecting him to refute the facts of the matter.

"I knew he'd come today, Mrs. Hawkins," Isaac told her. "I wanted to make sure you didn't worry anymore-"

"He had this in his possession," the constable broke in.

Sarah turned quickly toward it, wanting to realize the new evidence. Isaac watched as the constable proffered something to Mrs. Hawkins, extending his mechanical hand forward slowly and precisely. His eyes widened as Sarah accepted it quietly.

"No!" he exclaimed, realizing at once what it was. "Mrs. Hawkins, that's not mine!"

"It's another letter," Sarah muttered. She looked as if she were on the verge of both laughing and crying, her fingers gripped tight about the edge of the envelope, shaking. It seemed that she both wanted to drop the envelope away but keep it near. There were so many different things that Sarah felt at that moment, conflicting ideas and desires, emotions and beliefs. Her head was continually shaking, and though she appeared to deny their fall, uncried tears were evident, shimmering in her eyes.

"I was patrolling, Mrs. Hawkins!" Isaac continued desperately. "I didn't want him to come to your window today, I wanted to see who it was!"

Sarah's finger slid beneath the envelope, breaking the seal and slowly opening the flap. She didn't appear to hear Isaac as he spoke, lost deep in her own confusion.

"I saw him Mrs. Hawkins!" the man continued, loudening in an attempt to make her hear. "He was at the window! I climbed up after him! I told him to stop!"

Sarah took the edge of the letter, folded in that familiar way that all the other notes had been folded, and coaxed it out of the envelope's hold.

"I don't know who it was, Mrs. Hawkins," Isaac said. "I didn't see his face... but he ran, Mrs. Hawkins, he ran away!"

She opened up the letter, noting the recognizable handwriting that fluttered across its face. She let out a weak giggle, sounding almost crazy, and began reading the letter aloud.

_Your gentle beauty shines about your face,_

_Like angel's halo, wear you splendor's crown._

_And take away mine eye at such a pace,_

_And quicker change gay smile from ugly frown._

"He dropped the letter, Mrs. Hawkins! I picked it up! I tried to chase after him, I tried to catch him, but he was too fast; he ran away!"

_For smiles you grant my lady fair, my rose,_

_And happiness you give from one small glance._

_Alone you stand more beautiful than those_

_Who claim to live a life fraught with romance._

"That's when they caught me, Mrs. Hawkins," Isaac said, the desperation in his voice becoming more and more obvious with every word that Sarah uttered. The lights in the Benbow flickered on one by one, the heads of guests and crewmembers appearing from behind the edges of opening shutters. "They took me down, told me that I did something wrong... But I didn't!"

_And so long waits familiar courter, I,_

_With wish that my love soon is recognized,_

_In saddened state, yet for your love I fly,_

_And feel the gay young breezes of the skies_

"Mrs. Hawkins, I didn't know they'd be there," he said, a rueful tone taking his voice. "If you told me you'd alert them I wouldn't have been out there tonight. Maybe they would've caught the real guy! Mrs. Hawkins!" He stared quietly at the young woman, who never once looked up from the note. She wasn't paying him any heed, she hadn't realized anything that he had told her, anything that he had said.

_A mammoth hope, yet one I hold so dear,_

_Don't shy away, my love, you've naught to fear._

"Sarah!" Isaac exclaimed, almost crying at this moment. "Sarah, why didn't you tell me, Sarah? They could've caught him, and you wouldn't have to worry anymore! I wouldn't be here; you wouldn't be here in front of me!"

Sarah lowered the hand holding the note to her side, her fingers loosening slowly until the note dropped to the ground. She glanced up at him slowly, her face taking an expression of indiscernible emotion.

"Sarah," Isaac muttered, looking up at her hopelessly. "Sarah, why didn't you tell me?"

Her eyes remained on him for a long time, a sad and quiet stare. "Never," she said at length, her voice cold and distant, "call me by my first name, Mr. Granger." She looked away, obviously unbelieving of anything that he had said. Her emotions swirled within her, many of them reflecting an unsure feeling toward her judgment. There was evidence against him, of course, but what of it...? Would Isaac really lie to her about it? She looked down at the letter quietly, listening to the loud protests of her ex-assistant as the robot constables dragged him away.

_He is the type,_ she began convincingly, _that would invent a story to clear his name. He is the type who gets digs deeper and deeper into things, until it's too late... He's someone, who wants to stay away from jail cell, but doesn't take the right precautions._

_He is also someone, _her mind added, _who cares about people, especially you, very much. He is also someone who would want you and everyone else to be comfortable._

_He's also the person, _Sarah broke in bitterly, _that was found at my windowsill with the letter, who struggled against the robocops, who looked at me as if he were the guiltiest person on Montressor, and tried to relocate some blame upon me when he saw his story wasn't working._ She thought the last bit with a bitter frown, for she did feel the guilt and the sadness with his words.

_Don't tell me that you're blaming him just because he tried to blame you._

_I'm not,_ Sarah protested. _That isn't it... _She looked up finally toward the distance, where Isaac and the guards were disappearing down the road. She shook her head, and turned, moving toward the door of the Benbow. _That's not it at all...

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**Wow... a lot of italics in that chapter, eh? Well,if you've read this, thank you. Writing is a passionof mine that your interestfuels. **


	5. New Assistant

**Author's Note: Well, here's the fifth chapter... I was expecting to put some more into the story... but I didn't. Thank you, reviewing people, you rock! Keep it up, please! If there's anything in the story that you think might need some tweaking, I'll be happy to know, 'kay? Thanks! Read and Review!**

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It was a new morning, three days after Isaac was forced to leave the premises, and Sarah strove to yet again reclaim her life. Her mind had been continually nagging her since the constables had left the Benbow Inn, refusing to stop its guilty thoughts for longer than a moment, even when the young woman lay down to rest. Sarah wanted to put the whole nasty business behind her, but the perpetual suspicions that perhaps Isaac had not been the culprit made it a difficult endeavor. It seemed that the weight that the letters had placed upon her already over-burdened shoulders was lifted, only to be replaced by a heavier weight. One of the heaviest of all, it seemed. Shame.

Sarah stared out of the wide window that looked out from the inn's dining area. The skies were their familiar grey, created by the machinery that was constantly at work in the nearby mines. The shingle outside swayed back and forth in the light Montressor breeze, creaking on its hinges, mute to Sarah's ear. Small fast-moving specks glided through the open sky, random birds and rays that broke the dreariness of the planet's atmosphere. Dirty clouds drifted across the colorless expanse.

It was a strange metaphor to the feelings that she housed within, she thought as she examined the sullied skies without. Though it was day, it seemed darkness lurked in everything. Sarah knew that her problem had been solved; she would no longer have to deal with the weariness or worry that Isaac's love letters had caused. And yet, she continued to feel the discomfort that should have been left behind. Like the coming day should have vanquished the night. Yet, day in Montressor was still shadowed. And her mind stayed bothered by her sadness.

"You regret what you did, don't you, Mrs. Hawkins?"

Sarah jumped at the voice as it broke through her contemplations. She looked to her side, noticing that Anthony Bronson had joined her unnoticed during her thoughts. He looked worried, as if he were able to sense all that Sarah was reflecting, though it remained unspoken. She lowered her eyes to the thin sill of the window where her fingers rested, tapping them softly against the wood. How was she supposed to respond to his question? What answer could she concoct, what reply could she create that would not push the young Canid further into concern?

"What do you mean?" she demanded at length, returning her gaze to where the metal docks sat outside.

Anthony Bronson licked his thin lips, as if he were not able to easily explain his question. He looked down at his feet, his usually smooth brow furrowing with his uneasy thoughts. After a moment, he lifted his sights slightly higher, watching quietly as her long fingers tapped restlessly. He lifted his hand to Sarah's, patting it gently. "Mrs. Hawkins," he began slowly, "you did not want Isaac to leave, did you?"

Sarah seemed to jerk slightly, her spine straightening at the question, much more blatant than the first. Anthony stopped any movement, startled by Sarah's sudden twitch.

"Mrs. Hawkins?" he asked, tilting his head in confusion. "Mrs. Hawkins, is there something-"

"How dare you!" Sarah interrupted him suddenly, wrenching her hand away from his. "How could you suggest something like that?"

Anthony's jumped backward, surprised by the young woman's sudden outburst. "What?" he questioned loudly, pulling his hand from the sill.

"Isaac is an ass, Anthony!" Sarah continued, giving him an angry glare. "He didn't care about what I was going through, he toyed with my feelings; I'm glad he's gone!"

Anthony stood quietly, listening to what she said with an understanding nod. "Mrs. Hawkins," he said, approaching her again, taking one of her shoulders, "I didn't mean it like that."

"I can't believe him," she muttered, shaking her head. "All he's done to me... and it was all for some stupid laughs, too." Sarah felt her eyes become moist, tears forming, ready to fall. _No!_ she thought angrily, looking to the ceiling above in hopes of stifling any weeping. _No! I am not going to cry! Not right here, not right now! I am not going to cry!_

Anthony watched her, unable to see her face, but realizing from the sudden slouch in her shoulders what was going on. He bit his bottom lip, unsure how to deal with the situation. There were many things that he could do, many of them things that he would like to do, but many of them things that he could not consider doing. She was his employer; something so much as a hug would most probably be frowned upon. So, all he could settle upon doing was stay behind her, patting her shoulder, muttering reassuring words to her as she strived to cease her crying.

_I thought I could trust him, _Sarah thought, wiping away any tears that happened to escape her eyes. _But he lied to me... Why does that hurt so much?_

"Anthony," she said after a while, trying her best not to hiccup, "I have to discuss something with you."

"Yes, Mrs. Hawkins?"

"With Isaac gone," she began, pausing for a moment as if thinking of his name, "I have no assistant manager... and as much as I'd like to put out another notice for a new position, it would be easier for me if I could just use someone I already have who's qualified for the job."

"Mrs. Hawkins?" Anthony asked, slowly realizing what she meant. He realized that she was doing her best to change the subject, trying to ignore the feelings that his mention had flared up.

"Anthony," she said, sighing. She turned round wiping away the last drips that had managed to fall, and she feigned a smile. She proffered the Canid a congratulatory hand. "Would you be my new assistant?"

Anthony stared at her hand, blinking in disbelief. "Me?" he asked, his mouth hanging open wide when he stopped speaking.

"Yes, Anthony, you," Sarah replied, her hysterical emotions finally sinking away. She let out a friendly giggle.

The Canid shook his head, letting out an incredulous laugh, and running a hand over his hair. "Well, this is unbelievable!" he exclaimed, his smile widening with every moment.

"Not really, Anthony, you deserve it!" Sarah patted her colleague's back.

"This is an honor, Mrs. Hawkins," he said, taking her hand and shaking it vigorously. "An absolute honor!"

Two weeks passed without incident, Anthony being on cloud nine for the whole experience. Why he felt so proud of himself, Sarah wasn't sure; becoming assistant may mean one has a higher position than waiter, but it also guarantees a great amount of different other tasks that one would have to deal with. It may not exactly be clearing tables after dinner (though Sarah did assist her employees with this, it was only because she felt a sort of closeness to the customers and crew when doing so), but the great amount of monetary work was about as tiring.

Sarah was doing much better; the day when the letter would have come had passed, and she was relieved to find that there was nothing more suspicious than dust sitting on her sill. Though she spent a good amount of time asking herself why she would expect a letter to be there, what with Isaac being gone and all, it was a relatively happy day for her. Her condition soon bettered, until soon enough the thoughts of Isaac and the love notes disappeared. Her friendly countenance reemerged, the bags beneath her eyes becoming less obvious for the smile that brightened her face. Running the Benbow Inn was once again a thing that she enjoyed.

Morph seemed happy too, for unknown reasons. He had begun acting normally, though the sudden joy seemed more than what was usual for him at certain instances. He no longer moped about the dining room as he had for the past month or so, and now found pleasure in floating along, repeating back the words of child guests and taking form of almost every other thing he encountered. Sarah's mood only rose higher upon noticing this. _It must be the time he's been spending outside,_ she thought, smiling. _Well, there's one of my better ideas. _

Anthony was acting somewhat anxious, though, as Sunday approached. Sunday was surprisingly almost always a busy day for the Benbow Inn. It seemed that every alternating week they were playing host to another Sunday luncheon for one of their town's social groups. Which meant a lot of food and a lot of service. Which, in turn, meant a lot of work. Which, in a much more enjoyable turn, meant a lot of money. But of course, many who were employed in the inn couldn't usually look past "a lot of work" when it came about. Sunday's demanding tasks were partially a reason why the letters were such a strain. They had always come on a Sunday.

This time around, the event turned to be a birthday party other than a luncheon. Children were everywhere, which meant a greater amount of labor than any normal adult occasion. Sarah had her hands full trying to keep the children from breaking anything, and Anthony, who seemed to have a terrible time dealing with anything younger than sixteen, was left to deal with things behind the scenes. Children around here, especially friends of one young birthday boy named Ethan, seemed to enjoy chaos more than candy or cake. Sarah figured this, considering that they all chose to throw both, among other food items, around the inn.

It was just after another bout of food fighting (that Sarah had strategically stopped with the suggestion of party games) that Mrs. Dunwuddie came into the dining area. Sarah had noticed her not because she had made a freakishly loud noise (though it seemed at the time that it would take one to avert her attention from the pandemonium taking place around her), but the look that she had on her face. And, the fact that the woman had tripped on a stray piece of cake had rather helped.

"Are you okay, Mrs. Dunwuddie?" Sarah asked, rushing to help the patron up to her tentacles.

"Yes, yes, of course," the woman answered, straightening her blue bonnet after righting herself. Sarah blinked. She almost expected something of a loud complaint from the woman; it seemed in her character. She noted the anxious look that Mrs. Dunwuddie held.

"Is there something wrong?" Sarah asked, curious.

"Well, dear, there is something," Mrs. Dunwuddie replied, glancing out the dinging area window. Sarah followed her gaze, and, though it might attribute to the angle that she stood to it (far to the right), she saw nothing.

"Is there something outside?" Sarah suggested after the woman remained silent.

"Well, yes," Dunwuddie replied, nodding. "There's a... well, not to alarm you, but there is a suspicious figure standing outside of your inn."

"A suspicious figure?" Sarah asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes!" Dunwuddie nodded her head, acknowledging Sarah's accuracy. "A strange man... he's... well, he's..."

"Is he doing something inappropriate?" Sarah questioned, wondering what could have made the woman so anxious.

"Well... no, I don't suppose... He's just... standing there."

"Standing there?" Sarah asked, furrowing her brow.

"Yes, standing there!" The woman noted Sarah's incredulous look. "Well, you'd understand if you saw him!"

Sarah gave her a short smile. "Would you feel better if I checked it out, Mrs. Dunwuddie?"

The woman nodded her yes, and Sarah thanked her, and told her that a waiter would be with her shortly. She called Anthony's name, and the Canid peeked his head from behind the door of a separate room.

"Yes, Mrs. Hawkins?" he asked, eyeing the surrounding messiness with a sort of uneasiness.

"Anthony, I have to check something outside," Sarah told him. She handed him an apron. "I need you to take care of the kids for a while."

"But, Mrs. Hawkins!" Anthony protested, obviously against having anything to do with the wriggling mass of rowdy children that swarmed about the dining area. "Can't you ask Catherine to do it, or maybe Raul...?"

"Catherine's working in the kitchens today, and Raul is already dealing with the other customers," Sarah answered, grabbing one of his arms in an attempt to pull him out of the safety of his chamber.

"There are other customers?" the Canid asked incredulously. Sarah gave him a strange look.

"Of course. Now, come on," she said, finally pulling him out of the room. "You've still got to do what I tell you, you know."

"But, Mrs. Hawkins-"

"It won't take more than a minute, Anthony!" Sarah said, frustrated. "Don't be such a baby!"

Anthony let out a sigh, accepting the apron, and pulling it around his neck. He made his way to the dining area, but turned round and pointed a finger at her. "Not more than a minute, you remember!"

"Not more than a minute," Sarah verified with a nod. She made her way out of the door just as another food fight broke out.

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**Author's Note: That's the end... guess who's outside. I was drawing pictures of Anthony and Isaac after I wrote this... I was going to link up my pictures with this chapter, but I decided that would be pushing it a little bit, don't you think? Read and Review! CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM, PLEASE!**


	6. Jack Arktos

**A/N: Here we are... sixth chapter, eh? I'm sorry if the writing isn't that good in this chapter... I did a lot of thinking just before I started writing again. I don't know why... But hey, here it is. READ AND REVIEW!**

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The busy sounds and rambunctious screams of the Benbow Inn dwindled quietly into a soft murmur, Anthony Bronson's impassioned objections and frustrated screams dying into little more than an indiscernible backdrop to the silence without. The inn's entrance creaked slowly to a close as Sarah Hawkins released the handle, taking in a deep, relieved sigh, a smile splitting her face.

There was a strange feeling of liberation that came with leaving the inn that Sunday, though she had already promised a disgruntled Anthony that it would only be for a moment. She closed her eyes, taking in a long, savoring breath of Montressor air, and let it out slowly, the tension and frustration that had been slowly accumulating leaving her body as she released her sigh. It was a content feeling. It wasn't the same type of feeling that she had been experiencing the past week; the last week had past as more of a relief to the stress caused by the you-know-whats. This was a truly satisfied sensation. Something that she had not sensed for so long a time.

Sarah opened her eyes after her drawn breath had been expelled, shaking her head at the strange happiness that had taken her. She wiped her hands on the apron that she wore around her waist, as if symbolizing her return to duty, then took a step forward to deal with whatever, or whomever in this case, was bothering Mrs, Dunwuddie. She had only moved an inch or so forward when she was stopped right in her tracks.

Sarah had spotted him. Or, at least, she thought it was him, the person that Mrs. Dunwuddie had made her complaint about. He was a peculiar figure, undoubtedly tall, large... _An Ursid, _Sarah concluded after short examination. She could tell by the bear-like qualities that were obvious upon this man. You never saw too many of those around Benbow.

The Ursid that Sarah had noted was standing a short ways away, just beyond the shading edge of the building's roof. He was staring up at something, it seemed, that was sitting upon the metal shingles above, his left hand open above his eyes to block out the sun's glare. He wore a hat, a tricorne, as it was a popular style in those days, along with a long black overcoat that appeared rather heavy, the type spacers wore typically. He wore a pull on shirt, a pair of red shorts held on by a leather belt, and a pair of black, brass-buckled shoes. He was a spacer, Sarah surmised almost immediately. An Ursid spacer, around the age of fifty, it seemed. It occurred to her that Ursids were undeniably uncommon about these parts, but spacers were altogether a usual sight. Sarah wondered quietly what it could be about this man, other than the fact that he was staring upward at some unknown thing, that made one of her patrons so uncomfortable.

"Excuse me!" Sarah addressed the man, waving a hand to gain his attention. She took a few steps forward. "Excuse me, sir!"

The man seem to jump somewhat from the sudden call and turned from the roof to look at Sarah curiously. He moved his whole body to face her, moving his hand to his hat, which he took off politely. A smile took his large face.

Sarah stopped suddenly, her eyes widening at the sight before her. She remained in this position for a moment, blinking in shock at the Ursid man, then, regaining her manners, she looked away, trying to hide the rude look that she had given him.

He was a cyborg. The Ursid man was a cyborg. Sarah coughed quietly, doing her best to keep looking at him in a discreet manner, her curiosity gripping her tightly. It wasn't that cyborgs were unfamiliar to Montressor, though a town like Benbow wasn't as used to them as other parts. It wasn't the mere fact that he was part mechanical. It was how much of him was gone. From what Sarah could then examine, he was lacking all the limbs on the right side of his body: his leg, his arm along with a good portion of his shoulder, as well as his eye and part of his head. He'd probably more gone beneath his clothing. She could only imagine the horrors that could have robbed him of so much of his being, or what problems he experienced through out life for his differences. The thought of such pain made Sarah extremely uncomfortable. For some reason, it frightened her.

The man, on the other hand, released a laugh that betrayed the loss and pain that Sarah had supposed hounded him. He pressed the tricorne against his chest and bowed his head in a gesture of respect. "Top o' the mornin' to yeh, lass," he greeted, flashing a smile, gap-toothed but surprisingly charming in its nature. He replaced his hat atop his head. "Yeh called me?"

Sarah coughed into a fist, clearing her throat uncomfortably. "Y-yes," she stammered out, nodding her head. "What I wanted to tell you... to ask you was... I wanted to ask you..." Sarah grimaced, unable to find the words that she wanted to say.

The Ursid only laughed. "Y'ain't used teh cyborgs, are yeh, lass?" he asked, a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. Sarah stiffened at his suggestion, which was just a bit off of the mark.

"No, no!" she said, shaking her head at his guess. "That's not it... not really."

"Is that so?" he inquired, a twinge of disbelief in his voice. Sarah laughed in embarrassment.

"Yes... well no, I mean... Let me start over," she said, slapping her forehead. She extended a hand for the stranger to shake. "My name is Sarah," she said in introduction.

The man accepted her gesture happily, shaking her hand in a friendly manner. "Jack," he said in reply, saying this at length as if inventing a name on the spot. "Jack Arktos."

"Jack," Sarah repeated quietly, releasing his hand after returning the shake. Sarah looked up at his friendly face, which glanced down at her in a strangely welcoming way. The way that this man acted was odd, deviant from the character that his exterior portrayed. She had expected something different. A slow, lumbering man, with a rough and surly voice, antisocial, rude... but he was quite the contrary. The man was far from antisocial, it seemed, his words and salutations actually representing the persona of an extrovert. His voice, though rough fro weathering years, was full and charismatic, and his movements were graceful, executed in wide expressing arcs, not at all slow, or lumbering, despite his largeness. Sarah felt the comfort begin to seep in, and most of her fear toward the Ursid slipped back into her mind.

"So, what are you doing here, Jack?" she asked, attempting friendly conversation with the Ursid before her.

"Ah, business," he answered, glancing upward for a second.

"Business?" Sarah repeated, wondering his meaning. "What type of business?"

"I'm lookin' fer a job," he answered.

"A job?"

"Yeah... It's in a convenient location, and someone referred me to this place..."

"Someone referred you to the inn?" Sarah asked in order to be sure. The ursid nodded, verifying her accuracy. "Who?" she inquired.

"Someone... his name was Bronson, or the like," he said in reply, scratching his chin.

"Anthony referred you to the inn?" she asked, her eyes wide in surprise. If Anthony suggested the man go here, then he must be a hard worker.

"Was tha' his name?" Jack asked, jutting out his jaw. "Didn' know his firs' name. Only knew the lad as Bronson."

Sarah nodded her head in reply. "So, you're looking for a job at the inn?" she asked.

"A job," the man acceded with a nod of his head.

Sarah returned the bob with one of her own, putting a hand to her chin in a deliberating manner. _Jack is searching for a job,_ she thought, tapping a considering finger against her white cheek. She raised her glance back to the Ursid, whose own attention seemed to have reverted from Sarah back to the slope of the roof that had been preoccupying him when she had arrived. She perused his expression quietly, doing her best to construct what personality she could from his appearance, as well as what reactions toward his place in the Benbow Inn family would be. People, Mrs. Dunwuddie being a good example, didn't normally accept anything too out of the norm; would this Jack Arktos be considered to have gone that far?

A quiet whistle broke into her thoughts, and she returned her sights to the large person before her. His hands were raised upward, his fingers making a waving motion, as if gesturing for something to approach. His lips were puckered gently, a soft tone escaping through the small circle they created.

"C'mere, Morphy," he spoke, his mouth once again curving into a pleasant smile. "C'mere!"

Sarah turned about and saw, floating swiftly downward along the descending angle of the roof's shingles, Morph, squeaking in loud and happy bursts. She watched in relative surprise as the protoplasmic blob flew toward the Ursid, passing Sarah as if she weren't there, and circled him ecstatically, before making its way to his cheek and rubbing its gelatinous body against it. Jack let out a hearty chuckle, lifting a large finger to Morph to give it a place to rest upon, and returned the soft stroke with one of his own.

"Strange," Sarah said, watching the scene before her. A smile took her face. "It's almost as if he knows you..."

"He knows you!" Morph exclaimed, turning into Sarah for a spell, then swiftly remorphing into his usual form. Sarah raised a brow at the pet's exclamation, sending Jack a strange look. She didn't know why, but she had felt a small twinge of suspicion upon hearing Morph utter those words. Morph, though a veritable copy-cat, usually had some sort of meaning behind the things that he echoed back. Whether it be in agreement or an attempt to reply, there was often times a reason that he repeated what he did. Was it possible that Jack Arktos had in fact met Morph before hand? After all, he had coaxed the little creature to come down from its spot on the roof (whatever it was doing up there), and he had referred to it as "Morphy", which was a rather affectionate nickname.

"Aye, lass," Jack said, as if in response to the thoughts that were running through her head. "Me and morphy here, we're friends."

"Oh really?" Sarah asked. "He belongs to my son, Jim," she told him, reaching out to run a finger over Morph's curved back.

"Ah, the lad takes good care o' his pet, eh?" the Ursid asked, his tone vague, bordering upon mild interest and true curiosity.

"He did," Sarah answered, laughing quietly as Morph attacked her with its tongue. "He's off at the Royal Academy at the moment, so I'm stuck taking care of the little morph."

The man lifted his head at the news, a look of surprise taking his face. "_The _Royal Academy, yeh say?" he inquired, a sound of awe evident in his voice. Sarah nodded, smiling proudly at her son's achievement. Jack smiled, glancing up at the sky as if he could see the academy from his post before the inn. "Aye," he muttered, his features softening, "he's gonna be somethin' special." There was something strange about the way he appeared at that single moment, Sarah realized, that seemed touching and memorable to her. It was a glimmer in his eye, one that seemed full of reminiscence and pride, one that Sarah didn't completely understand.

"So," Sarah began, glancing away from Jack to Morph, who lingered still beside him, "how do you know Morph?"

Jack turned back to Sarah and passed the morph a grin. "Saw the little shape shifter around," he told her, "when I was in town. He was mumbling around, melancholy. Thought I might cheer 'im up a bit."

Sarah's lips twitched into a remembering smile. "Consoling the family pet," she muttered. She released a sigh, thoughts of Isaac and his betrayal flowing into her mind for the first time in a long while.

"You say something, lass?" Jack asked, stooping down in order to see her face, which had lowered to look at the floor at the discomforting thoughts.

Sarah shook her head quickly. "No, no, nothing," she lied, trying her best to push away the uncomfortable thoughts that stewed in her mind. She sighed, then, as if remembering what they were both discussing beforehand, took his arm and gently guided him toward the door. "Now, you said you're looking for a job, right?"

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**Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Who is Jack Arktos? If you don't know then I don't write that well... I think I made it freakishly obvious... A sudden thought popped into my head... Where is B.E.N? He was working at the Inn, non? I can make it so that something bad happened to him (Sarah-inflicted, Jim-inflicted or whatever) so he has to stay at the mechanics... I'm not that good at writing for B.E.N. In my opinion... Ah well.**


	7. Clean up!

**Author's Note: Seventh chapter. There was supposed to be more happening, but I was tired and didn't want to write anymore that day, and what with my impatience and all... well, thank you all who reviewed, keep it up, and, if you have it, give me some constructive criticism! Please! Read and Review!**

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It was the worst nightmare of any of the Benbow Inn's workers. The whole of the cleaning crew stood in a long row across the breadth of the dining room, mops and buckets in tow, their backs pressed against the wall. The whole group stared at the great mess that had been left, a result of young Ethan's rambunctious guests, with wide eyes. It was horrible, an amalgam of cake, soda, and confetti that slowly threatened to encrust the entire room. The children had not limited themselves to dirtying the tables. Or the floor. Or the ceiling. They had even gone so far as attacking the waiters (as an uncharacteristically slimy Anthony Bronson evidenced). Tonight's clean up would be far from a pleasant experience.

"Alright, comrades," Anthony began, marching up and down before the row of helpers with a grim expression, a long-shafted feather duster tucked beneath his arm. He exuded the feeling of an old army general, flog in hand. His gait was militaristic, straight and almost mechanical. He stopped before one maid, a young woman named Clarabelle, and turned swiftly to face her, pivoting on one foot. He swung the duster outward, fluttering the feathers, and then brought it before the young maid's face, attempting a serious look as the duster tickled her nose. "We've all got a lot to do this night," he said, striking her twice, gently, on her forehead, then turned, restarting his stride up and down the line, "and Mrs. Hawkins is counting on us to complete the task before morning tomorrow."

The Benbow's helpers groaned at the expectation, but silenced their complaints at the sight of Bronson's unhappy glower, the assistant manager having turned immediately at the first unhappy moan. "That's better," he muttered, taking the shaft of his duster into both of his hands. "Now, dear Inn-ians," he began, his polite smile displacing the serious expression that he had been using, "let's make Mrs. Hawkins proud!" He swung the duster downward, striking an unsullied portion of the floor sharply with the feathered end. There, the group let out an uproarious cry and rushed forward past the young assistant, brandishing their mops and brooms as if they were weapons.

Anthony watched his underlings as they attacked the mess with an uncanny—and maybe humoring—ferocity. A proud grin split his face. It had only been two weeks since his promotion and already, it seemed, the crew was respecting him more. During his time as a waiter he had gained easily a certain amount of esteem from his peers in the old Benbow Inn, but there were an unmistakable few that less-than-appreciated, nigh hated, the young Canid man for his efficiency alone. _But now_, he thought with a smirk, _at least they're keeping their snide comments to themselves._

"Mighty good work yeh've got 'ere, Mrs. Hawkins."

Anthony's ear twitched, the tones of a familiar voice reaching him. He turned round quickly and saw, his smile straightening into a tight line, Sarah Hawkins walking down the hall, nodding her head at a large Ursid man who lumbered beside her.

"Yeh sure I'll be able teh keep up wit' the lot of 'em?" the Ursid asked, stroking his chin thoughtfully at the scurrying crew, an amused smile taking his broad face.

"Of course, Jack," Sarah said benignly, patting his arm. "From what I can tell, you're a hard worker, you've got plenty of experience; I'm fortunate to have found someone like you to help with everything."

"Ah, now, Mrs. Hawkins, ma'am," Jack responded with a smile, just a bare color of red taking his cheeks. "Yeh're makin' this ol' cyborg blush."

"Oh, don't be like that, Mr. Arktos!" Sarah said. "You really are well-qualified for a job here, especially if Anthony referred you to Benbow... ah, here he is now!"

Anthony stiffened at the sound of his name, quickly returning his gaze to the workers before him, though his attention was not easily drawn away from Sarah and her new guest.

"Anthony!" Sarah called out. The Canid did not turn, a sort of mild embarrassment taking him, his posture straight, his gaze unfaltering. He did not even twitch as he felt Sarah's hand rest on one of his shoulders, though he jumped within. Here, he turned his head to face her, his usual smile plastered upon his face.

"I was calling you," she told him, removing her hand from his vest. "Didn't you hear me?"

"Ah," he said, shaking his head apologetically. "I suppose I was a little busy with the work to deal with this night," he suggested, gesturing with his duster the mess that the young partygoers had left in their preadolescent wake. "As you see, it's a bit more than we're all used to. But nothing we can't handle," he added quickly, as if hoping not to bring about any doubt toward his ability as assistant.

"That's a relief," Sarah said, letting out a sigh. "I was worried that maybe I was overworking you all."

An audible murmur rose from the crew members working in the dining room, all the waiters and waitresses stopping for a moment to mutter amongst themselves, as if daring each other to respond truthfully their thoughts on Sarah's statement. Anthony turned about before any could, however, and shot them a look. The bunch noted the look, annoyance evident in his face despite the normal grin that he adopted, and they returned swiftly to their jobs, their murmurs quieting until they dwindled into unheard whispers and thoughts.

"No," Anthony began, turning back to Sarah and Jack. "Not at all, Mrs. Hawkins."

Sarah blinked for a moment, unsure what reaction was in order for the situation. She settled for a slight bewilderment, but quickly enough shook it off with a nod.

"Okay then," she said at length. She moved away from the subject as quickly and discreetly as she possibly could. "Oh, yes, Anthony," she started, remembering the large person beside her, "you know Jack, don't you."

"Jack?" the Canid echoed, arcing a brow at the Ursid as if the name didn't suit him at all.

"Don't you know him?" Sarah asked after a moment of staring on Anthony's part, an awkwardness taking the air about them. "He said that you referred him to us..."

"Yeah, don' you remember, Bronson?" the man named Jack interjected, his smile becoming strained. "Down in town? The 'help wanted' sign yeh were puttin' up?"

Anthony's eyes widened at the mention and he nodded suddenly. "Ah, yes!" he replied, giving Jack a strange look before returning to Sarah. "Yes, I met him down in town."

"And you didn't recognize him?" Sarah asked a twinge of disbelief in her voice.

"Well," Anthony began, putting a hand to his chin, "it was just strange to me to hear him referred to as Jack, I suppose. He had called himself-"

"Arktos," Jack finished, nodding his head. "We didn' use firs' names, y'know. Tha's why I thought it strange teh hear 'is name as Anthony this mornin'."

Sarah nodded her head, an understanding smile stretching across her face. "Oh, I see!" she said. Anthony and Jack exchanged a glance, its meaning hidden from any witnesses, yet understood between them. Anthony released a sigh.

"So," he said, turning to Jack, "you're working here now, are you?"

"Aye," Jack replied, nodding his head. "Mrs. Hawkins hired me jus' now."

Anthony nodded. "You've all tasks assigned completed, have you?" he asked, his expression strangely serious despite the smile.

"Aye," the man repeated, "the ones I was assigned teday, if tha's wha' yer sayin', lad."

Anthony jerked his head in another nod. "Good work then."

Sarah watched this short scene with a sort of confusion, not completely understanding what Anthony could have meant by work, seeing as she had just then hired the man. But she brushed this off, understanding that Anthony was of stout mind and would not usually say anything that he did not mean to say.

"So then, Jack," Sarah said, breaking the silence that had begun between the three. "Do you think you can handle a dirty room like this?"

"Like this?" Jack asked, glancing over the frosted ceiling almost unsurely. "Well..." A smile came upon his face. "O' course I can, Mrs. Hawkins. T'aint a problem fer old Jack Arktos!"

He strode quickly toward the mess, gaining the usual stare from those around him who have not the fortune to normally encounter cyborgs. He pulled his jacket off his shoulders and his hat off his head, hung them both off the back of a chair that had already been tidied, and rolled up the voluminous sleeve that housed his biological arm. Borrowing a brush and bucket from a young man that had stopped his work to stare shamelessly at the Ursid, he quickly slopped a good amount of water upon one sullied table and began cleaning. His moves were quick, yet efficient, and none could say it was for him being part mechanical that allowed him this ability. He used nothing special in his work; his metal hand did no more than hold the brush as he ran it back and forth over the dirty table. No miraculous tool, no labor-saving device aided him. Just regular old elbow grease.

It took less than a minute for the table to be complete, cleaned well and only needing drying. Jack moved quickly to the next table. He scrubbed that easily and continued on to the one beside it. The whole crew stopped to gape at their new addition, amazed by his appearance. Jack, in the middle of his fifth table halted his own work for a moment, realizing the stares and the fact that he was the only one working.

"Well?" he asked, straightening out. "What are yeh all lookin' at? Aren' we s'posed teh be cleanin' this mess or am I the only swab in this room?"

The crew quickly returned to their work, muttering "Aye aye's" as they continued, and Jack restarted his cleaning. Sarah watched them with an amused expression.

"He's a real leader, isn't he?" she asked Anthony, who stood beside her.

"Yes," Anthony replied after a moment. "He seems capable."

"Very capable, if you ask me," Sarah said, smiling at the large form that worked amongst the other, smaller figures.

Anthony raised a brow at his superior, but nodded his head at her statement. "Let's hope."

It was well-before dawn when the crew had completed their task (a situation that they hadn't thought possible before Jack had arrived with Sarah). Everyone was tired, nearly overwhelmed by the labor that they had faced that day, and, saluting Sarah with a weary but satisfied smile, they made for their beds. Sarah watched as those who hadn't left at the ending of their shift as they either walked out the door, ready to go home, or made their way down the long hall on the ground floor, staggering and yawning their way to the rooms that Sarah had courteously supplied them. Soon, she was left with only Anthony and her new employee Jack, both of whom seemed nearly as tired as the others.

"Firs' day was t'ree hours a' nigh', an' I'm still tired," Jack said, stretching out his arms. "Are these li'l shindigs an occasional t'ing, or was I fool enough teh apply to this job?" he asked Sarah jokingly, a friendly smile taking his face.

"If these things weren't occasional," Sarah said, beaming back, "I wouldn't be standing here beside you."

Anthony watched them quietly, his smile still somewhat intact though undeniably drooping. "Don't you suppose we should turn in for the night, Mrs. Hawkins?" he asked after a moment, gesturing to the stairs.

"Yes, that's right," Sarah said, yawning despite all self-control.

"Well then," Jack said, putting his hat and jacket back on, "I suppose I'll be back later, eh?" He made his way to the door and was just about to turn the knob when Sarah's hand made its way onto his own, stopping him.

"It's late and dark, Jack," she told him, a worried look taking her features. "Do you have a place to stay?"

"Well," Jack began, somewhat flustered at the sudden contact. "I'm stayin' down a' a motel in town, ma'am."

"That's a good way off," Sarah said, biting her bottom lip in concern. "Don't you think it would be wiser to stay here?"

"Stay here?" the man asked, raising one eyebrow in surprise. "Fer the night?"

"How about for when you're employed here?" she suggested. "A lot of the other workers in Benbow do it as well."

"But, how do I pay-"

"Don't worry," Sarah assured him. "It's not that much, and it'll be taken from your salary. Plus, you wouldn't have to worry about having to travel back to your room in the dark. There are some unpleasant people who lurk around Benbow at night, Mr. Silver," she told him, shaking her head.

Jack beamed at her warmly. "It's awful nice teh know tha' yeh care, Mrs. Hawkins, bu' I think tha' I can deal with them pups easy. And besides," he added, "didn' a few people jus' leave the inn a mo' ago?"

"Yes, well, they live nearby, and they're more accustomed to the area," she said in response. "You told me you were new here; that you've only been to Montressor once. I think it would be best if you stayed here at the inn."

"Aye, lass, bu' I wouldn' want teh bother yeh..."

"You leaving and getting hurt would bother me," Sarah said candidly, leading him away from the door. Jack seemed taken aback by the woman's persistence and followed her, flustered.

"But, me things are back at the hotel..."

"You can get them tomorrow," she told him. She started to lead him up the stairs to a free room. Anthony stood, watching her as she pulled the Ursid about, his smile just barely sustained. He followed them quietly, leaving the candles downstairs lit for the first time during his employment.

"Aye, but I'll still be payin' fer tha' room on a nigh' I didn' use it."

"Don't worry," Sarah said, waving off his words. "You don't have to pay the Benbow for using their room tonight, then."

Arktos quieted himself finally, pretty sure that the woman was resolute on her choice. He smiled at her, and followed now without being dragged. Sarah took him to a room on the third floor, just a few doors away from Anthony's.

"I'm sorry you couldn't stay on the first floor with the other workers," she said, unlocking the door with the master key that she kept in her pocket. "But all the rooms on that floor are taken, and the second floor is reserved exclusively for guests."

The cyborg chuckled nicely. "Don' worry abou' tha', ma'am," he told her with a charming grin. "Don' t'ink the lot of 'em would be comfertable wit' me aroun' anyways, if yeh understan' me."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," she told him. She pushed open the door and stepped aside for him to step in. It was a modest room, with a bed and a night stand, as well as a lamp and a chest of drawers. "I know it's not much," Sarah said, noting the stare that the cyborg gave upon entering.

"Don' worry, lass," he said, walking over the large window and glancing at the moon, clearly seen from his chamber. "It's won'erful. Loads be'er than tha' room I 'ad a' the 'otel." He sniffed his large nose. "An' loads cleaner."

Sarah laughed at the statement.

"Thank yeh, ma'am," Jack said, turning round and shaking her hand appreciatively. He sat down on his bed quietly. "I'll be seein' yeh in the mornin' I suppose."

"Of course," she answered, and she shut the door.

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**That was it! Yeah... I need to watch treasure planet again... which will probably irritate my family... but who really cares, eh? I would link you up to pictures I drew of Anthony Bronson... but something keeps happening everytimeI try. So... f'you want to see them, go to crispy-gypsy. kay? It's my art... site...gallery... thing... I warn you. I'm not the best artist.**


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